The 3rd Birthday
by spawnofthesith
Summary: Lightning and Fang; partners in crime, partners for life. AU mature, sexual & dark themes


The 3rd Birthday

Meticulous fingers crept along the meaty thigh of business tycoon Manuel Vonzuela, travelling high until they settled comfortably between the crook of his pelvis, where they began a steady rhythm of backward and forward strokes, coaxing the man into a sweat. The steady look remained on his face, his body language above the cover of the table cool and professional, while below-table, he was twitching. A large hand came down to clamp onto the culprit, thick fingers almost crushing the elegant digits that were propositioning his leg - and his inhibitions.

One beady eye darted to his left, where the woman he had captured was smiling sweetly at him. He caught the suggestion in her eyes that was so blatant; she almost didn't need to touch him in that manner. He allowed the side of his mouth that was visible to her to creep up into a smirk, to let her know he was all for it. She retracted her hand, and he waited, counting down in his head. Three…two…one…

"Excuse me," she said lightly, rising from the table in the farce of heading to the restrooms. Manuel watched her slink her hips out of the corner of his eye and restrained himself from licking his lips. When she was out of sight, he craftily reached into his pocket, wrapped his hand around his cell phone, and pressed a single button along its side, which activated his 'Phantom Call' program. On cue, it began to ring and he stepped away from the table with a respective nod of his head to the other business administrators, placing the phone to his ear and walking away. When he, too, was no longer visible to the other occupants, he jammed the phone back into its place and hurried to the bathrooms, unaware of the pair of dark eyes on-looking. It was almost ridiculous, sneaking into the _women's _bathroom to have quick and sleazy sex, but when he caught sight of her, leaned against the sinks and _waiting _for him, he didn't think twice about it.

She was absolutely fucking beautiful, and he felt the need to let her know as they clashed like the titans and the sea. Her elegant frame wrapped around his rotund body in a way that made his knees quiver and his toes curl in his shoes. Those fingers, that had worked such tiny miracles on the tender flesh of his thigh, slipped into his greasy hair and began to massage his scalp while he peppered bristly kisses along her neck. If she didn't like the feel of his moustache, she gave no indication, other than a tiny moan that could have been mistaken for a simple sigh, were he not close enough to hear. He almost took her right then when her tongue came out to lick along his ear, his erection at its peak and pressing into her. Surely she could feel his need, but that was okay; she was possibly the most beautiful woman he had taken in a _long _time - he would let her have her fun.

Bear paws fisted her silky dress, sliding up to cup her breasts. They fit perfectly into his hands; not too big, or small. He hated huge tits, the same as he hated small ones. Those kind of girls didn't get the special treatment _this _one was going to receive. She mewled, and he grinned in ecstasy when she finally kissed his face after minutes of teasing. She was good, and he felt her hands slip down his backside to cup the muscle. He roughly pushed her up against the sinks, catching a glimpse of them in the mirrors behind; it was a nice effect for a conceited man such as he, to be able to watch himself fuck someone senseless and know that it was _his _cock they were panting for, _him _they wanted inside them. The woman, uncomfortable with the change of position, pushed herself up to sit on the ceramic and wrapped her legs around his waist. His cock, trapped behind its clothed restraints, touched the fabric of her panties and he groaned. His beefy hands itched their way from his chest to her legs, sliding up to tear the offending cloth away so he could touch silky flesh…the sound of the bathroom door opening shattered the atmosphere of heavy breathing and pants.

Manuel detached his mouth from the woman he was ravaging, and growled, "get the fuck out, whoever you are. Can't you see we're busy?" His boiling blood froze in his veins when he heard a feminine chuckle from behind him, and another in front, whispering around his ear like morning fog. He pulled back enough to look the woman in the eyes, and saw the dangerous glint that men like him feared, the kind which haunted their nightmares. Looking in the mirror, he saw another reflected in dark eyes right behind him, and the glint of cold steel. It pressed against his neck, and a smoky voice crooned to him.

"Kindly take your filthy hands off my lover." Manuel did as he was told, the knife pressing so hard into his skin, it was cutting him. He could feel the sting of pain and the warm blood - _his _blood - trickling down his neck and into his collar, which was way too tight and making him feel claustrophobic. Suddenly, there was no air in the bathroom, and he was nearly gasping. "Now, get away from her," commanded the voice, and again, he obeyed, for every second he hesitated, the knife pressed harder. He backed up, the woman in front of him slipping down her dress and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She slid off the sink and slinked behind him, and he watched in the mirror as two huntresses cornered him, one with a knife to his throat, the other - who he had been about to fuck mercilessly - guarding the door, and effectively blocking his exit.

"Now," said the smoky voice, "I've heard a lot about you, Mr. Vonzuela. I've heard that you like to take young women off the streets and rape them, beat them 'til they're within an inch of their lives, and then dump them into the creek near the sewer, where no one will find them and they bleed to death."

Manuel swallowed, regretting the action, for the knife cut deeper. His heart was pounding so loud he was sure that everyone in the room could hear it. "N-no," he tried to deny, "I don't know what you're talking about! You must have me mistaken for someone else!"

"I don't know of any other Manuel Vonzuela, major business tycoon, who abuses his power with both the media and the peoples money to get away with his crimes," said the voice; Manuel was making a point not to look at her in the mirror, for he would see his own mortal clock in her eyes, ticking faster and faster, seconds running out like sand in an hourglass. "What about you, baby?"

He caught the movement of the woman standing guard at the door, arms crossed; she shook her head, lightly, but enough to be perceptible. "I didn't think so," the other woman whispered in his ear, knife inching that much closer to his carotid artery. This woman knew exactly what she was doing, and Manuel knew that no matter what he said, he was a dead man. But he had to try.

"Listen," he wheedled, "I have a lot of money. I-I'll give you all of it; just _please_-please don't kill me, I'm begging you! I-I'll never touch another woman again! I swear! I'll give you everything - _please_!" His heart was beating so fast, he was risking a heart attack. His breaths were coming in short gasps, and sweat covered his entire body, matting his hair to his head and soaking through his shirt.

"Hm," the woman holding the knife hummed, and Manuel's heart skipped a few beats; was she actually considering? He felt the knife lessen a little, and foolishly, relief began to slip through him. Everyone had their price, it seemed. "I don't know, Light. What do you think?" Manuel was too scared to catch the mocking tone in her voice, but watched as the other woman slinked over to them, arms still firmly crossed over her chest.

"You have a lot of money, you say?" She asked to confirm in a gentle voice that belied her true nature, the way she appeared in front of him. Like a spider, staring down the fly caught in its web, daring it to try and escape before she ate it. Manuel nodded like a jackhammer, the knife scraping his skin. He watched as she stared him down for a few seconds, and then backed away slowly, a few steps so she looked as though she were admiring a painting from afar, trying to see the real picture inside. "I have plenty of money already, Mr. Vonzuela. If your bills are anything as greasy as your hair, they'd only slide out of my purse." There was a smug grin on her face, one that belonged on a trickster mocking his victim, and in that moment, Manuel knew his time on the earth was over. Adrenaline wired in his brain, and he grew enraged.

"You fucking dyke!" He yelled, unpredictable like a wild animal, but before he could do anything destructive, the slice came, swift, clean and efficient, cutting through skin, muscle, arteries, veins, so precise that there was no blood spatter, the only remnants of the damage on the shaft of the knife. There was a few seconds of dead silence, Manuel stilling completely, before he turned white, looked at himself in the mirror and saw his skin peel open before his very eyes. Blood oozed from the fatal wound, staining his collar and shirt. He wheezed, tried to scream, but his vocal cords had been destroyed, and the two women watched eagerly as he keeled over onto the floor, gasping for his last breaths like a fish as his life's essence seeped out onto the tiled ground. He twitched for a few moments, choking, and then died, his onlookers smiling grim, satisfied smiles.

"That was kind of anti-climatic," said Light, after a few moments watching his nerves fire off and the dead man's fingers continue to twitch. "Don't you think, Fang?"

"What, you hoped he was going to spout blood like a fountain, just like the last scumbag we took care of?" Fang frowned at her companion, wiping the knife clean on a rag tucked in her bra. Once free of blood, she put the weapon away in the holster on her leg, hidden under her dress. Carefully stepping over the dead man, keeping her feet away from his blood, she took some toilet paper and used it to press the flusher, dumping the rag in the bowl and making sure it got sucked away. "The fucker's dead. End _of_."

Light stared at her. "You're upset because he had his hands on me."

Dark eyes bored into blue ones. "He had more than his hands on you. You know I hate it when you _lure _them like that." Fang made her way to Light's side, moving her eyes to make a stony glare at the dead man. "This guy's one of the worst I've seen; dirty _animal_." She aimed a kick at his side, digging her toes in good.

Light placed a calming hand on Fang's arm. "He's dead, _end of_, just like you said. His string of rapes and murders is over, and he isn't going to hurt anyone else now. Let's go." Looping her arm through Fang's, she led the woman out of the bathroom and back into the bustling restaurant.

"Finally, we can leave. This damned place is too pretentious for me." Grumbled Fang, and Light made a point of grabbing her purse quickly. They left, walking out into the chilled night air. Light's skin grew Goosebumps, but Fang seemed unaffected. Light didn't like the dark expression on her face, but knew she couldn't deal with it there and then because they had to leave the vicinity before someone found the body. They reached her car, and Light took out her keys and handed them to Fang. "You drive," she said, knowing it was best to distract Fang from her train of thoughts. That, and there was something urgent she had to do. Fang accepted the keys without a word and got in, starting the ignition. She sped away as soon as Light was buckled in, and the pink-haired woman rolled down her window, taking out a small bottle of mouth-wash. She gargled for at least five minutes, getting the taste of Manuel's mouth off her tongue and out of her teeth, before jetting the load out the window. Fang almost looked amused, but the scowl returned mere seconds after it had disappeared. Light sighed.

"You're angry with me." She stated, even though there was no need.

"Not with _you_." Fang said, running a red light carelessly. Light admonished her, and then sighed again.

"Yes, you are. You're not angry with the dead man lying on the ground in the women's bathroom that we just killed, and you're not angry with all the rapists and murderers out there just like him who get away with it. I don't think you're even angry at the world right now; you're angry at _me_." It was the truth, and Light didn't like it. She trailed her hands over her bare, cold arms, deciding against rolling her window back up. She knew it was about to get stifling in the cab.

"You know I fucking hate it when you get them alone like that. I've told you this so many times," Fang all but growled, never taking her eyes off the road. Before Light could reply, Fang barrelled on. "Sure, I know you say you can handle those situations, but all it takes is one tiny slip and you're dead, neck broken and body ravaged before you even know what you did wrong." The pictures flashing through her mind were blurred, a mix of real images - memories burned into her retina for life of messy ginger hair surrounding a lifeless, white face, twisted around the wrong way - and fake ones of pink hair torn out and littering the dead and bloodied body of the woman beside her. Light knew what Fang was thinking, but she couldn't help feeling a little indignant.

"I'm no rookie. I know what I'm doing," she snapped, with a hint of bitterness that Fang would have caught onto, were her senses not fuming.

"That makes no difference!" She yelled. "You could slip so easily, and then it's over: you're as dead as El Fattio we just wasted! Not only that, but he had his greasy paws all over you; how do you stand it?"

"Do you think I enjoy it?" Light said softly, dangerously, and all of a sudden Fang deflated. "Do you think it doesn't make me sick to my stomach, having men like him touch me that way? Of course it does, but now he's dead, and that's all that matters. He can't hurt anyone else. He can't ruin any more families, and that's more than worth letting him touch me." Her own ghosts haunted her, flashes of pink hair and vibrant blue eyes, much like her own, but on a younger and softer face; then, later on, those same eyes, cold and empty, pink hair splashed with red, and screaming. Lots of screaming.

There was silence for a few moments, and then Fang let out an apologetic sound. "I'm sorry. It just…bugs me. That's all."

"I know," replied Light, just as soft as before, but the menace was gone from her voice. Both women understood that the other's baggage was the most pressing thing in their lives, for neither could not forget what had spurred them to become such vigilantes as they were. The law had failed them where it counted the most, and so they continued to act their own justice on the monsters that lurked within society. It was quiet again, and Light looked over at the black book lying on the dashboard. "Do you think we should give that policeman his book back now?"

"I dunno," said Fang, with the hint of a smile on her rose-dusk lips, "ain't there anyone else in there you want to exact justice on?"

Light shrugged and smirked, leaning her head on the rest behind her and shutting her eyes. "I'll have a look later." She said, as conversationally as if they were discussing the weather, rather than the continuation of someone's life. Fang smiled and turned on the radio, volume low and the station relaxing. Light soon drifted off into a dreamless nap, while Fang took them back to the latest motel they called 'home'. When Light awoke again, Fang was shutting off the engine. "We're _home_," she said with a mocking twist to her lips, and Light shook her head and clambered out of the vehicle. They took their room key from the front desk, bid goodnight to the nosy old lady who wanted to know where they had been and why they were dressed up so fancy, and shut the door behind them. The dark room offered only the red light of the digital clock, which sat on the table beside their double bed. It read: 11:50. Fang stood in thought and watched the clock, while Light bustled around in the dark, looking for the switch to brighten up the room.

"What's the date today?" Fang inquired, when the room got brighter.

"Eighteenth of the fifth, why?" Light replied, easing off her heels and taking a seat on the edge of the bed. She bit back a yawn, fatigue creeping up with her. A smile slowly grew on Fang's lips, and Light cocked her head, curious.

"Do you know what day it will be, in nine minutes exactly?"

Light stared. "The nineteenth?"

Fang rolled her eyes. "Three years since we banded together on the mission to rid the streets of the scum that the police don't bother with. Three years since we decided it was up to us to make the streets of Cocoon a safer place. Three years since…you told me I looked good in a cocktail dress." She said the last part with a bit of a smirk.

Light looked at Fang for a few moments, processing the information, before she allowed a soft smile to come to her lips. "The third birthday."

"Isn't that supposed to be some kind of omen?"

Light shrugged and crawled under the covers. "Only if you want it to be. Now, get in bed. I'm tired."

"Pity," said Fang, with a bit of a leer, "I wanted to enjoy you in that fancy dress."

Light chuckled as Fang tossed off her shoes, turned out the lights, and climbed onto the bed, curling her body like a cat, fitting around Light's shape perfectly. "There's always next time."

When the police burst into the room that morning, Fang and Lightning were long gone, the police book left on top of a neatly made bed.

END


End file.
